The Big Country

Helpless Helpless Helpless

This is a little off-topic, but here goes: I’ve seen some posts mocking the influx of freshmen into New York City. The impulse is exactly as wrongheaded as reviewing restaurants when they are still in previews. Give it some time!

Let them be clueless freshmen for a few weeks--classes haven’t started, even. The mocking can begin in October or November, when you can at least say they should know better. Doesn’t everyone, from Sam Mason to a freshman who still (gasp!) wears a backpack, deserve a month or two to find themselves, even if their outward appearance that make you hate them on sight?

Resto Change-O

Has Resto, spring’s darling little restaurant saluting the Low Countries, slipped in quality? It sure felt that way to me last night. Don’t get me wrong: it still has a place in my heart, but the volume generated  by the glowing reviews, lack of reservations, and general chaos of the (admittedly tiny) dining room is taking a toll on the kitchen.

Look at one of Resto’s standouts, the deviled egg, on a “pork baguette” (really breadcrumbs and guanciale that’s chopped and fried). It remains a great idea, but was the execution always so… timid? Worse, the pork baguette has morphed into something that looks a lot like a hash brown. Sure, the eggs come on a wood plank now, but that's missing the point. Even the burger, which both the Times and New York hailed as one of the best in the city, has a rather tired bun. Would a brioche cost that much more?

Love of meat brought foodies to Resto, but if it devolves into more of a scene—I saw a lot of chunky belts and white jeans— and becomes less about the food, it's unlikely they'll keep returning.

A birthday gift to me

Gastropoda has long been the best food blog on the block, but the site's new under-the-hood update makes me click my heels with joy. Yes, there are timestamps and tags on posts now. Check out this one on Restaurant Girl, tagged as “birdcage liners”.

Aww, that’s harsh! Especially for RG, a living example of how far a writer can get using the thesaurus function on Microsoft Word. Now if you'll excuse me, I’m off to have some aroused scallops. And I thought it was just oysters that did that.

Momofuku Ssäm Bar's Butthead Reservations Policy

For my birthday this year, I asked for the pork butt from Momofuku Ssäm Bar (Usually I ask for a pony, but it's so hard to find horsemeat in the city). MSB don't take reservations, but this dish requires one plus a minimum of six people (max ten). They serve the butt with some oysters and other unhealthy goodness. It seemed like a delicious way to celebrate my birth.

Except...you can only make the reservation for 5:00 or 6:00 p.m. Say what? I know MSB doesn't want to overload the kitchen or take up the space during peak hours, but is there no late night option? This is an injustice, I say! It's damn tough to wrangle people out of work on a weeknight that early, and now I am stumped as to my next move. Sigh.

Prague to UK: Bring Sawdust

Oh, British people: is there nowhere you won’t embarrass yourself? The Guardian reports that Brits visiting Prague managed to visit the hospital 20 more times than all the Brits who visited the U.S. during the same time period (2005-06). Impressive, considering there must be far more visitors to the U.S. Or maybe perhaps the crackerjack U.S.. healthcare system scares them off. I know I’d be a bit frightened as a foreigner visiting St. Vincent’s in Greenwich Village. Especially if I wanted birth control or other non Pope-sanctioned treatment.

What surprised me is that Brits are still going to Prague for the stag parties that necessitate these trips to the hospital (and visits to the UK embassy, according to the article). Prague’s not all that cheap anymore, and thanks to Ryanair and the like, Brits can pretty much head anywhere in Europe they want on the cheap to get plastered beyond all repair. And they should do that, since the Czechs don’t really want them vomiting across Old Town Square every night.

But then again, millions of American college students continue to embarrass themselves in Cancun every year, so I guess things never change when it comes to this kind of travel. But consider this description of an unlucky Brit in Prague as a warning, though:

One time, a reveller showed up at the embassy gates, he said, wearing nothing but a bed sheet. "He had somehow lost all his clothes while frolicking about in the middle of Prague and couldn't remember what happened to them."

Anthony Bourdain and the Temple of Secrets

Despite being a huge Anthony Bourdain fan, I had never eaten at his restaurant here in New York, Les Halles. Truth is, I’m not sure it’s really “his” restaurant anymore. He’s not an owner and the Les Halles website touts him as “chef-at-large” for the chainlet of restaurants (now in Miami and Washington, D.C.!) which is an oblique way of saying that you shouldn’t strain your neck looking for him in the kitchen.

Still, I thought there might be something of a Bourdain-influence on the restaurant, so I was excited when a local guidebook/magazine publication here in New York City sent me to review the place. You can spot the Bourdain vibe in a few places; the front, where there’s a butcher shop, and the general ambiance of the place, which is heavy on the theatrics, just like his books and his show. Watch those crepes suzette sizzle and flambé! 

But, man alive, it’s been ages since I’ve eaten in a restaurant with that many tourists. There were guidebooks open at almost every table, which happens, but isn’t it supposed to be a New York-edgy restaurant? It’s also incredibly overpriced ($160 for two, including tip, for three courses and a sub-$40 bottle of wine) for simple French food found in superior, cheaper iterations at quite a few bistros in Manhattan alone. And with the way T.B. eats on his show, one would expect some hoofs or snouts on the menu, but it’s hardly more challenging than halfheartedly offering some tripe and boudin noir.

I can’t fault Anthony Bourdain, of course, because he’s not in the kitchen—he’s too busy being, you guessed it, a celebrity chef, or at the very least, a celebrity—and French dining in New York has moved on a bit in the sixteen years since Les Halles opened. So, pour out a forty ouncer for Tony Bourdain—he’d want it that way--and hope he steps up to the stove again soon.